


Waiting Out the Storm

by nocturneequuis



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:40:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25602964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturneequuis/pseuds/nocturneequuis
Summary: The trial is under way and there is still a lot to come to terms with. For the moment though all Ellie needs to focus on is sleeping in the small slightly shabby hotel room that she's sharing with Hardy-- and the single bed within it. The thoughts can take care of themselves later on. And they will... won't they?Set during S2:E2
Comments: 7
Kudos: 55





	Waiting Out the Storm

Something was wrong. Usually Ellie slept like the dead. Nothing short of an alarm blaring in her ear would rouse her. Only now it was something else, some kind of—what was it? Not an alarm exactly. Not a feeling of dread or anxiety, though that had been long enough with her they felt like old friends. It was just a sensation that something was … off. Like the universe was desperately trying to bring something to her attention.

Reluctantly and against her will she found herself drifting back to awareness. The bed was all wrong for one thing, the blankets over starched. The air smelled unfamiliar, though not unpleasant. A car passing by somewhere on the street below… at this time of night? There was an arm over her, a steady breath brushing against the side of her neck. That seemed familiar enough except the weight wasn’t right. The breath didn’t smell pleasantly of mint, but sharply as if it was trying to stab anyone who came near it.

Joe was also in prison awaiting trial for being a paedophilic murderer. The anxiety and guilt squirmed in her gut and her throat closed as tears threatened. She swallowed past them, batting them down. She wouldn’t cry over it any more. She’d promised herself that. She would just see justice done and get over it. Get on with her life.

She had to.

Ellie took a few shuddering breaths, pulling in strange air and obnoxious cutting mint through her nose and letting it out through her mouth. Eventually the urge to cry passed with only a few tears managing to get free and travel the line of her cheek. The knot remained in her belly but that would go away in time. The hand beside her twitched, distracting her from the well of grief. It couldn’t be Joe, so who the hell…?

Oh- Shit-

_Hardy._

A mix of mortification and some kind of horror welled in her. What now? What could she do? Could she wriggle away from him somehow without waking him? She tried. The moment she moved the hand seemed to come a little closer to her—but not a single change in breathing.

Maybe it would be fine, she thought. Maybe he would roll away in the night? She could imagine him as a restless sleeper. Hell, she was still hard pressed to imagine him sleeping at all. Still he was now and when his knee nudged her leg, she knew that it was a bad idea to wait.

Mortification it was then.

Face burning with heat, Ellie whispered:

“Sir-”

Nothing. Shit.  
  


“Sir?” A little louder. Hardy didn’t so much as grunt. If he were a different sort of man she would have thought he was faking it just to be contrary. She took a breath to up the volume. His nose pressed against her neck, startling her into a shriek.

“For God’s sake, Hardy!”

“What?” He startled violently. “Jesus Christ!”

Ellie didn’t know if she felt relieved or insulted that he yanked away from her like a scalded cat. There was a heavy thump and a scrape as something started to be dragged over. The resultant crash was answered by vile curse that Ellie would be hard pressed to think let alone say.

Silence followed that like calm after the storm. She breathed for a moment in the quiet, hearing his ragged breaths that seemed to go on for far too long. If he had a heart attack over this she was going to kill him. Thankfully his breathing quieted and after a moment she found herself straining to hear it at all.

“You alive?” she said.

“Unfortunately,” Hardy replied. Another thump and then: “Shit.”

She could see the darker shape of his silhouette moving away toward the window. A moment later she heard the rustle of fabric as he sat in the room’s only chair. Another burst of quiet. A flicker of rain started pebbling against the window.

“I told you I didn’t want to do it,” Hardy growled. “I told you it was a bad idea. But no you had to do it your way.” She imagined she could see him dragging a hand over his face but it was impossible to tell in the dark. “Christ.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. Of course expecting an apology was too much to hope for. Of course it was somehow her fault. She clutched the blanket between her fingers, wishing it were his neck. This brought her attention to the fact that she had pulled it up to her chest like some frightened virginal heroine in a horrid ‘80’s flick. She sat up and set the blanket firmly in her lap, though it didn’t make her feel much better.

“I didn’t know you were a sleep hugger,” she snapped, trying to get some of her own in. She was proud of herself for not letting the word ‘snuggler’ slip past her lips as was her first instinct, because applying that to Hardy was bad enough; applying that to the context of Hardy and _herself_ didn’t bear thinking about.

“I didn’t know either,” he muttered.

How could he not know? She wanted to ask. He had a wife and a daughter so presumably he had slept in the same bed with someone else at some point. But then again she wasn’t surprised he had no idea. She couldn’t imagine him staying in bed long after the deed was done. Maybe getting right up and back to work, or else passing out cold completely as was typical of men—as Ellie had heard—and not even paying attention to the woman he had just—

And now she was thinking far too much abut his sex life so nip that right in the bud.

The point was it shouldn’t surprise her one bit that to someone as acerbic and cagey as Hardy that snuggling was something that happened to other people.

“Of course you don’t,” she muttered. Then felt uncharitable as soon as she’d said it. It hadn’t exactly been his fault. She tried instead to think of something nice to say. Hardy, predictably, ruined it before she got the chance.

“I wouldn’t on purpose,” he said. “Not with you.”

“Oh, thanks,” Ellie said, surprised at how much that stung. “That’s just what I wanted to hear right now.”

“Oh come on, that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” Did she really want to know?

“I didn’t mean anything,” Hardy said, an edge of something almost like desperation to his voice. “I- You aren’t— _ach_ can’t we just drop it? It won’t happen again.”

“Fine,” she snapped.

“Fine,” he replied, sounding just as irritated.

As silence fell once more she wished she hadn’t let it go so readily. If only because with the argument done, the thoughts crowded into her head, one after the other until it felt like she would burst from them. What did she care what Hardy thought? She wasn’t attracted to him in the least. He was a shadow of a man, all angles and sandpaper. Nor did she want him attracted to her—and she doubted he was—but she didn’t need the brutal conformation of it either.

Still, it almost made her wonder if she was attractive to anyone of or if she’d just been – what did the call it?—a beard. A cover wife to Joe’s sickness. His perversity. His choices.

The mix of grief and anger rose up in her chest along with that most hated of emotions- self pity. She had to rise above it. She had to claw her way out of it if she must. She wouldn’t allow herself to be laid low by that bastard. She owed it to Tom and Freddy. To Beth. To everyone she had tried and failed so miserably to serve and protect.

“It’s fine,” she said shortly, to Hardy, to herself, to whomever. “I don’t care.”

She groped about on the floor for her blazer which she must have inadvertently tossed off during the night. Finding it she pulled it on, not even caring at its rumpled state.

“I’m going to find something to eat.” And gain three hundred pounds and that would show everyone how little she gave a damn.

“Miller, it’s three in the morning. Nothing’s open.”

“I’ll find something. Where are my bloody—ow! Shit!” She found her shoes by tripping over them in the dark.

“It’s raining,” Hardy said.

“I’m a big girl, I can handle getting wet.” She sat on the edge of the bed and shoved one shoe onto her foot. There was a snap of lightning followed by a rumble of thunder that vibrated the windows. The rain started in earnest now, a deluge that put an end even to that plan.

Ellie threw her shoe against the wall with a curse and ran her fingers through her hair. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she just stop feeling things? She needed to be strong now so why couldn’t she just be what she needed to be?

“It’s alright, Miller,” Hardy said. “You’re alright.” There was a warmth to his voice. An aching kindness. If it were anyone else she might have taken comfort in it. If it were anyone else she would expect and accept to be enveloped in a comforting hug or be tucked against a side.

Since it was Hardy though it set her teeth on edge. Made her feel inferior. Weak. As if, if he pitied her, she must really be pathetic. She wanted to throw her other shoe at him. She threw it at the wall instead and flopped back on the mattress, springs squealing in protest.

“You’ll wake the neighbors,” Hardy said.

“Sod the neighbors,” Ellie replied, hating the bitterness in her voice and how much she meant it. “Sod everyone. And sod _you_. It’s not alright. I’m not alright. _Nothing_ is alright. Don’t go around treating me like some victim that you need to lie to. I know better.”

Hardy said nothing. Because of course he didn’t. She wanted him to say something back. To get under her skin. She wanted a _fight_. A row to match the storm blowing outside. Another slam of thunder and the streetlights outside flickered. _Good_ , she thought savagely, blow every fuse. Make people late for appointments. Set the rest of the world on its ear for once.

“You’re right,” Hardy said. “It’s shit. The world is shit. Life is shit. The good always seem to die young and the evil live and get fat off the labor of the weak. People are used and abused and use and abuse others in turn. Justice is never a guarantee and just when you think you have something good going, you get bitten in the arse. In fact the _only_ thing you’ll ever have a guarantee of are that, sooner or later, something is going to _hurt._ ”

“Jesus,” Ellie croaked, holding a pillow to her chest. “I’m glad I came to you for comfort.” She hadn’t and if he suggested it she would chuck the pillow at him. She was proud of herself for not asking him how he’d managed to stay married long enough to procreate but maybe there had been a young idealistic Alec Hardy once before the world ground him down to paste.

“You wanted the truth, that’s what you got.”

She was beginning to regret that. Why was it that every conversation with him ended up with her regretting something or other?

“Why do you do it then?” she said. “If you’re so convinced that everything is going to turn out badly, why do you keep going at it?” He’d nearly killed himself doing it and she wasn’t entirely convinced he wouldn’t be as idiotic trying to solve the Sandridge murder. The difference was that now he had someone who could see right through his bullshit.

“Because you have to keep trying, even if you can’t see if any good will come of it. Even if it doesn’t. You have to keep working toward justice, keep working toward a better world, toward something worth preserving. Too many people hope for a happy ending and give up when it doesn’t come—but happy endings are rare. Instead all you can hope for is to leave the world a little better than you left it.”

She could _feel_ him watching her in the dark and tried not to let on how oddly uplifting that was, how oddly inspiring. She didn’t want to be inspired by him, damnit. She didn’t want to live in that gray uncertain world. She wanted to keep believing that if she worked hard and did well, she’d get a happily ever after.

“The problem with you is that the moment you see a negative emotion you run from it. You need to learn to embrace it, Ellie, channel it into something productive, let it fuel you.”

“Excuse me?” That certainly gave her a negative emotion she had no intention of running from. Outrage sparked through her. Since when had this been _her_ personal problem? “ _You_ need to learn not to be such a wanker. If I want to embrace positive emotions I bloody well will! If I want to believe in a brighter future than just “good enough” I bloody well will! Maybe if you tried smiling once in a while you’d know what it feels like!” A hammering came through the wall followed by a muffled:

“Oi!”

“Piss off!” Ellie snapped, throwing the pillow at the wall and knocking off a frame in the process. That was fine. She’d regret it later. “So _don’t_ do a character judgement on _me_ like you know better than anyone!”

“I said channel your anger not wake up the building.”  


It was a joke and she knew it and didn’t care for it. She picked up the pillow and lobbed it at him instead. Her eyes had adjusted enough by now to see him raise his hands to ward it off and was pleased to see it failed and smacked him across the face.

“What the hell, Miller. Are you _five_?”

“Maybe I am.” That was so satisfying she wanted to do it again. She grabbed the other pillow and nearly tripped over the lamp in her effort to get to him to give him a more resounding smack. “And what are you going to do about it?”

“I’m considering calling the cops. Hey!” He yelped as she popped him on the head, though not as hard as she’d been going to at the outset. “Knock it off!”

“What’s wrong, Hardy? Afraid of a little negative emotion?” Another bean with the pillow and she felt quite good now. It was almost therapeutic. “You’re right. I feel better now.” She managed to get a third smack at him, more playful than before, and danced back to dodge a pillow slung her way.

It was just her luck then that she kicked her heel against the lamp, stumbled and landed hard, teeth clicking painfully. She was briefly mute from the shock of it, then had to press a hand to her mouth to stop the wild laugh that wanted to leap out of it. It wasn’t a happy laugh, that she knew. And too loud for this time of night. But something close to relief. Something close to—she didn’t know—a feeling she couldn’t pin down.

“Are you alright?” he said.

“Fine,” she said. And she was, though she couldn’t imagine why that would be. He came to stand in front of her and offered his hand. It felt natural to take it somehow, even though they’d rarely touched on purpose. He didn’t so much pull her to her feet as pulled and she had to do most of the work getting up on her own, ending up stumbling into him. It was like bumping against some sort of stick insect that happened to be human shaped.

Joe had been a comforting wall. Had been a solid rock. Had been able to deadlift her even when she had been heavily pregnant and felt like a gross old sow. They had complimented each other, she always thought. Now—well, now was now and now she was tired. The adrenaline had faded and she was abruptly reminded that she hadn’t gotten much sleep and there was still much to do.

“Right. I’m going back to bed.” She gathered the pillows from the floor, picked up the lamp so neither of them would trip over it and remade the bed as best she could out of instinct.

“I’ll set up in a chair,” Hardy said.

She almost was about to let him, but then something changed her mind. Maybe because it seemed lonely in the chair. Maybe because the chair was by the window and the storm was still rattling about outside, which would make it impossible for anyone to get to sleep. Maybe she just wanted to show up Hardy’s pessimism and do some good for a change.

“Might as well try the bed again.”

Even in the dark she knew the look he was giving her.

“Miller…”

“Come on, it will be fine. We’ll sleep back to back. Here. I’ll even set up a barrier.” And she made an ad hoc one out of the thickest blanket which would hopefully stop any inadvertent snug—cudd—breaches of the peace.

“Just let me set up in the chair.”

“No, I won’t. You won’t get any sleep and you’ll be an absolute shit face all day tomorrow, even more than usual. Neither of us want to deal with that.” She only just refrained from patting the bed and moved as far to her side as possible. “Don’t be a pain in the arse about this, will you?”

He sighed heavily but she knew she’d won.

“You’re the pain in the arse,” he muttered, but sat.

“I had a good instructor,” she said. He snorted something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. She felt the bed shift as he sat, then waited, fighting against sleep for him to lay down, not trusting him to sneak off. Finally he stretched out, muttering something under his breath.

“Goodnight, Hardy,” she said.

“Mmph.” He said, or something like it.

Outside the storm lashed rain at the windows and the thunder growled low. Outside the world was a mess. Inside was warm and oddly peaceful if a little awkward still. The awkwardness made it real somehow. Authentic. Maybe because she’d felt they’d earned this place side by side? Either way, despite everything, she was oddly content. And if—at some time in the night, a wiry arm should flop over her again, she might find herself not minding it too much.

At least not until morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to some enabling Bee. She knows who she is D<


End file.
